58
TWILL
“Oh, Christ, my head hurts,” Langdon said. His voice seemed to come from straight across from her, from somewhere in the sea of black that separated them. He sounded at least ten feet away, maybe more.
“Mine too,” Twill told him. And that was no lie. It felt like someone had put a belt around her head and tightened it until it nearly popped.
“They injected us with something,” Langdon groaned. “Some kind of knock-out drug. Any idea where we—oh, shit. Are these bars? Are we in some sort of cage?!”
Twill nodded, then realized if she couldn’t see Langdon, he certainly couldn’t see her. “I think so. They go down into the floor. I’m not sure how high they are.”
“Is there a door?”
How the fuck should I know? Twill wanted to tell him, but didn’t; instead, she said, “Are you hurt? Aside from your head, I mean?”
“Someone punched me when we walked into the suite, right before injecting me in the neck. My ribs hurt, but I don’t think they broke anything. Just knocked the wind out of me. You?”
Twill hadn’t thought to check, but she didn’t think so.
Using the bars as leverage, she slowly got to her feet.
Her shoes were gone, and when she patted herself down, she found a tear in her dress near her left shoulder, but nothing else.
No sore spots. No blood. “I’m okay,” she told him.
“I’m going to try walking the perimeter and see if I can find the door. Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”
“Okay.”
From above, there was a flutter of wings. Two, maybe three birds took flight with disturbed caws. They settled a moment later with a harsh rustle of feathers.
Twill moved slowly, keeping one hand on the bars and sweeping the air in front of her with the other, hoping to catch something before running into it while simultaneously hoping there was no something.
The concrete was cold and damp against her toes, and when she stepped into a soft, wet puddle, she let out a sharp yelp.
“What is it? What’d you find?”
“I think it’s bird shit,” she told him. “Gross.”
“They sound like crows.”
“Yeah.” Twill didn’t care what kind of birds were above her.
Unless they knew a way out, they’d be of little use.
She wiped her foot against the side of the bars and kept going.
She went at least five feet before finding the first corner and another ten before finding the next.
When Langdon spoke again, he sounded close.
“I guess you’re not chained, are you?”
“What?”
“I’ve got something fastened around my ankle with a lock. That’s attached to a chain connected to one of the bars.” He gave it some sort of tug. Twill heard the sharp rattle of metal against the concrete. “I’m going to stand up and try walking. See if I can tell how long it is.”
“Wait,” Twill told him. “Stay put until I reach you.”
“Why?”
Twill didn’t really have an answer for that other than she wanted to reach him.
She didn’t have much of an answer for that, either.
She barely knew the guy. She didn’t want to be alone, though, and right now, she felt very alone.
“I’m trying to get an idea of how big this cage is.
If you start moving around, that will be harder. ”
Not the whole truth, but part of the truth.
“Okay.” There was another soft rattle of the chain as Langdon settled back into place.
Twill found him a moment later, approximately five feet from the last corner.
That put him directly across from where she had woken up.
She nearly stepped on him, and even though she expected to find him, she still startled.
He grabbed her leg and quickly put his other hand on the small of her back to steady her.
Twill pulled away from him, probably a little harsher than necessary. More of a reflex.
“I’m sorry,” Langdon muttered. “I wasn’t trying to . . . I just didn’t want you to fall. I’m sorry if that was inappropriate.”
Twill almost laughed at the absurdity of that. He had paid her two thousand dollars for the evening. Sex was expected. An innocent touch was hardly a reason to admonish the guy. “I’m just jumpy. It’s okay.”
Even this close, she couldn’t make him out.
She pictured him on the ground, his shirt partially untucked, several buttons missing.
His perfectly combed hair now a ruffled mess.
He let out a soft groan. “Oh, man. It’s not just my ribs.
The side of my face hurts too. I don’t know if they punched me or if I hit something when I fell, but I think it’s starting to swell up. ”
“Stay there,” Twill told him. “I’m going to keep going around. Hopefully find the door.”
“Hold up a second. Any chance you used some kind of pin to hold your hair up?”
Twill imagined her hair was a mess right now, but it had looked spectacular when she left the Quick. It took her half an hour to get it right. “A few of them. Why?”
“Can I have two? I want to try picking the lock on my ankle.”
“You know how to do that?”
“Let’s just say portions of my youth were misspent.”
Twill reached for her hair, removed two of the pins, and held them out. His hand fumbled for her in the dark and found them. His fingers were warm. She didn’t want to let go but did. “Stay put.”
Langdon rattled his chain. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She stepped around him, careful not to step on him, and reached for the bars again. She followed them another five feet to the next corner. “It’s square for sure. About ten feet on each side.” She kept going. She found the door another five feet over and stopped. “Got it!”
When Twill gripped two of the door’s bars and gave it a good shake, the rattle echoed through the room.
Above, the birds fluttered to life in one chaotic rustle of feathers and screeches.
So many, the rush of air found her; this musty belch of gamey oils and dust. It entered her eyes like a swipe of sandpaper.
She brushed at them with her palms and fingertips as they began to tear up and burn.
Something wet and warm slapped against her shoulder. Twill instinctively brushed the bird shit away, then cursed herself for doing it because now it was on her hand, too.
Behind her, Langdon made a shuffling noise as more rained down. When it finally ended, he said, “Let’s not do that again.”
“Sorry,” Twill managed as she blinked away the last of the dust from her eyes. “I don’t understand why there are so many up there.”
“It means there’s a way out.”
That was a good point.
Unable to see, Twill worked around the edges of the door until she found the lock—a large deadbolt, at least four inches square, reinforced with screws as thick as her fingers welded to the bars. Twill grabbed the handle and yanked hard—it didn’t budge. She told Langdon what she found.
“They probably want money,” he replied flatly. “Some lowlife who knows who I am figured he could get some kind of payday. I bet they’ve already called my business manager or my office and made some kind of demand. Alex will get us out.”
Twill liked the sound of that. It was much better than the images of Emily and Andy bouncing around in her mind.
Their bodies were abandoned with holes in their heads and needles in their arms. Left in the street like yesterday’s garbage by some asshole who got off on taking lives for the sake of taking lives.
There was some irony in that, she supposed.
But when she killed, it was with very good reason.
Not something she did lightly. The people Twill killed deserved to die.
Like those assholes the other night. Like that fucker at the morgue.
Whoever was snatching residents of the Quick was satisfying some dark, ugly, twisted urge.
If this were about money, and not that, well, that was much better.
And it could be, right? As far as she knew, the Quick Killer (that’s how she thought of him) had never grabbed two people at once.
Always only one. Always someone homeless.
Langdon was some tech gazillionaire. If there was a profile, he didn’t fit it.
“What kind of lock is it?” Langdon asked. “What brand?”
Twill couldn’t see anything; it was too dark. “I don’t know. A lock, lock. A big one. Why? You gonna try and pick it too?”
Behind her came the rustle of the chain again. “Yeah. I’ve nearly got this one.”
Twill ran her finger over the keyhole, the cold metal of the lock. She couldn’t see it, but it felt sturdy. Beefy. But who knew? Maybe he could pick it.
A shrill ring startled her.
Harsh.
Loud.
Coming from right next to her head.
A telephone.